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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25534486">On Winter's Edge</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/coaldustcanary/pseuds/coaldustcanary'>coaldustcanary</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Game of Thrones (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Marriage For Alliance, Marriage Proposal, POV Sansa Stark, References to Canon-Typical Violence, Winter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 08:41:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,914</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25534486</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/coaldustcanary/pseuds/coaldustcanary</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Stark house words had rung in her ears her whole life, the bite of their warning a feeble thing, in the end.</p><p>When Winter came, and with it the dead, there was no warning sufficient to prepare them and nothing to do but make one final attempt to find allies to stand against the Long Night.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arya Stark &amp; Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Just Married Exchange 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>On Winter's Edge</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorinaLannister/gifts">Corina (CorinaLannister)</a>.</li>



    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The fire in the great hall had been built carefully and fed carefully-dried wood until it roared, crackling and popping with energy, but despite the fire and thick fur cloaks over every set of shoulders, the room's occupants still hunched beneath a pervasive chill. Muffled shouts and the clatter of hooves in the courtyard outside served as a constant reminder that beyond the light of the fire and the thick stone walls it was far colder yet.</p><p>"There is no alternative," Sansa said curtly, schooling her voice into a steady, low timbre, ruthlessly curbing the high-pitched edge that fear sometimes allowed to creep into her tone.</p><p>"But Winterfell is <em>defensible</em>, Lady Sansa, you mustn't leave to-" Alvyn, who spoke for the knights of the Vale, had lectured her in this for hours, and given the opportunity he would apparently continue for hours more. Sansa cut him off with a sharp gesture.</p><p>"Defensible against a normal army of men, perhaps. With the expectation of reinforcements, certainly. We have no such hope, not with Daenerys and Cersei both fighting each other with everything they have," Sansa argued.</p><p>The armies of Westeros had depleted themselves against one another, shedding blood and winnowing their strength before the creeping cold sent each lord and pretender king scuttling for shelter. Only the Dragon Queen and House Lannister remained in the field, ignoring everything else in pursuit of a victory. Sansa could not even hold herself apart from it; she had brought the might of the Vale to bear and reclaimed her home, after all. The satisfaction of seeing Ramsey defeated and fed to his own dogs had reassured her that she could feel again, after everything, but at what cost for the North? Or for Westeros?</p><p>"Jon may yet return," Arya said into the lingering silence, staunchly defensive of their half-brother as always. "Just because the Dragon Queen didn't believe him doesn't mean no one will."</p><p>"He may," Bran said thoughtfully, studying the fire as if it contained proof, one way or the other, about Jon's whereabouts. "But it isn't certain. So many things can happen beyond the Wall, there are too many possibilities to know for sure. And if he does return with a wight to prove that children's tales are real, there's no certainty that Cersei will do anything about it. Or Daenerys. Or any other lord of Westeros." He turned from the fire to peer at Sansa with a detatched sort of curiousity.</p><p>"There's a lady who might, though, isn't there, Sansa?" It was a near thing, but Sansa just managed to keep from reaching for the parchment brought by raven two days previously that she had kept in her sleeve, pressed against her skin, ever since. The words on it were few, but the carefully-drawn flower, rooted deep into a stone wall, had imparted meaning enough for Sansa to understand. Apparently it was also for Bran to know - not much escaped his notice or knowledge these days. She let out a careful breath, noting grimly that it misted pale and gray like a fog from her lips as the cold crept even through Winterfell's thick walls. </p><p>"There is. I must depart for the south as soon as I can. The only wealth and military might that remains to match the Lannisters or the army of the dead is at Highgarden," Sansa said.</p><p>What else might await her in the Reach remained a mystery, though Sansa held her hopes close to her heart even as she wore the parchment beneath her dress as a talisman. </p><hr/><p>The journey to the south and was less a full-speed flight than might have been expected, even with the army of the dead massing beyond the Wall and threatening to breach it at their backs. Sansa rode, her sturdy mare laden with carefully arranged packs of supplies.  Alongside her, Arya and her mount were similarly burdened, and a small company of her Vale knights accompanied their travel as well. Sansa had insisted on a small party - if this proved to be a fool's errand the lack of even a few defenders for Winterfell would be harshly felt. Frost tipped the yellowing grass that lined the path, and there had been a sheen of snow on the ground this morning as they broke camp. It wouldn't be long now until winter's full decent. </p><p>"You don't think this was the right choice." It wasn't a question; she knew her sister too well to pretend otherwise. Arya shrugged.</p><p>"I trust you to weigh the options and make the best choice for The North," she replied after a lingering moment of silence.</p><p>"That's not the same thing," Sansa said.</p><p>"No, it isn't."</p><p>"I meant what I said. You didn't have to come with me, but I'm glad you did," Sansa said. Arya glanced up, squinting against the faded winter sun casting a cool light through the branches of the trees above, and nodded.</p><p>"You're needed in the North, Sansa. So I have to be certain you can make it back, however this goes." They rode in silence for a time, the woods around them still and quiet, the only sound the creaking of horse harness and the soft thud of hooves on packed earth. They'd left the Kingsroad behind days ago for lesser-traveled paths, cutting west across the landscape, keeping out of sight of the few villages and keeps they passed. </p><p>"You don't trust her," Sansa observed. Arya snorted. </p><p>"Don't take it personally. I don't trust anyone." Sansa cast her a sharp glance but did her sister the favor of not arguing the patently false statement.</p><p>"There is always risk," Sansa said. "Especially when there is the possibility of reward. I'm willing to take that risk upon myself."</p><p>"That's the problem, Sansa. You're not the only one left to take on all the burdens and responsiblities of the Starks. You have <em>us</em>, me, Bran, and Jon," Arya replied sharply. "You are the best at this, at making plans and seeing them through. We've all of us learned different things, and this one's yours. But you're not <em>alone</em> in it, not anymore." She reached out and briefly squeezed Sansa's arm with a calloused hand.</p><p>"You keep forgetting that." Bumping her heels against her mount's sides, Arya loosened her grip and hurried her horse's pace to catch up with the knight riding ahead, leaving Sansa alone with her thoughts, and her doubts.</p><p>When their party reached the Sunset Sea, weeks after they had departed Winterfell, Sansa felt relief so deep and consuming that she swayed in her saddle. The ship was here. A trader's ship, as promised in the missive from Highgarden, flying the colors of House Redwyne, vassals to House Tyrell. Somehow, amidst war and winter and dragons high in the skies, the little cog had dropped anchor in the sea, visible easily from the shore. Even taking such precautions, its arrival had never been a sure thing.</p><p>Sansa chose to take it as a positive omen, and with Arya at her side she met the rowboat sent for her with her features schooled into serenity. She pressed her fingers to the parchment kept snugly within her sleeve, imagining flowers blooming, hardy and strong, amidst the frost.</p><hr/><p>The Reach was always rich and verdant in the songs, full of knights wearing colorful panolply and fair maidens in silk. Sansa found it gray of sky, with a chill wind shivering over the rolling landscape as they rode as fast as they dared for Highgarden. There were no flowers in the fields, only the last desperate efforts of the local smallfolk to bring in a final grain harvest to feed them through the coming winter.</p><p>"Smart," Arya observed. "Whatever else she's doing, her people aren't panicking." A hint of gruddging admiration colored her tone, and Sansa couldn't help but smile.</p><p>They made camp for what their guide, a young knight of Highgarden likely no older than Sansa, assured them would be the last night before they reached their destination. Sansa rolled herself up in her thick gray cloak, bedding down in a soft cradle of earth ringed by a copse of spindly trees, finally allowing herself to imagine what tomorrow might bring.</p><p><em>Margaery.</em> It had been a lifetime ago, their time together in King's Landing, surrounded by the palace gardens, sharing honeycakes and confidences. The older girl had seemed so strong and capable, and Sansa, emotions warring between relief at her own freedom and fear for Margaery's safety, had thought that perhaps it would be alright. That even if she couldn't withstand Joffrey, that Margaery might.</p><p>She'd outlived him, at least. Margaery had outlived three husbands, all told, and the Queen's ire, and the Faith's trial, and her father and brother, only to return to Highgarden as perhaps the only more-precarious ruling lady in the Seven Kingdoms than Sansa herself. She had the Queen of Thorns by her side, and her House's wealth and men, but few allies. Only House Lannister's grim calculus that the slip of a girl from Essos come to conquer with <em>dragons</em> was a greater threat than what remained of the glory of the Reach protected Margaery from an all-out assault.</p><p>But nonetheless... Sansa touched her wrist, feeling the crackle of parchment beneath her fingers once more, and closed her eyes against the firelight's glow. In her dreams she was a bird, soaring above a vast and desolate plain. Far in the distance, a single tree cut a shadow on the horizon, but no matter how fast she flew, she could not reach it.</p><hr/><p>Highgarden was vast, set high upon a verdant hill, its pale stone towers blending into the gray skies. As their horses mounted the switchback path leading up to the main gates Sansa resisted the urge to urge her mount to greater speed. A softly pealing horn announced their arrival within the keep, but she hardly heard it for the blood pounding in her ears. The gates opened them into a vast courtyard, but the party that awaited them was small, and an achingly familiar sight. </p><p>Flanked by knights in soft doublets in Tyrell colors, her grandmother standing at her shoulder all in mourning black, Margaery waited to meet her in a simple green dress, a hooded cloak of gray over her shoulders. Her chestnut hair curled softly around her face, and when her eyes met Sansa's she smiled, and Sansa could do nothing but smile in return, her heart caught in her throat. She dismounted in a daze, clinging to the saddle briefly to steady herself before stepping forward.</p><p>"Lady Tyrell," she breathed. Margaery's smile deepened, and she held out her hands in welcome.</p><p>"Lady Stark. Welcome to Highgarden."</p><p>Behind her granddaughter, Olenna Tyrell sighed softly just as Arya Stark rolled her eyes with fond amusement.</p><hr/><p>In the end, it was a simple affair. The negotiations, despite the property and resources brought to bear, were straightforward, after all, in the face of a land at war with itself. A bond, a marriage of equals - ruling lady to ruling lady - to stand against the dark. They spoke their vows to one another in the sept at Highgarden, and again, a full month later, before the heart tree in Winterfell, even as the armies of the night marched beyond the Wall.</p><p>That night, as she clung to Margaery, warm and sated, Sansa dreamed she was a bird coming home to rest in a tree heavy with perfumed flowers, shelter against the coming storm.</p>
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